String. I knew I should want string.


Which was fortunate as I put a piece in my case and could thus make a ventilator with the bedroom chair.

Heat and crowds; but I escaped three times:

once to admire a large complex hole in the ground, walking, rustling, among tall dry stems of wild asparagus

secondly standing on a windy rampart, looking on one side over a thirsty and contradictory landscape, and on the other into a secret, green, formal space laid deep between two circumvallations

and thirdly on a platform where an almost purple deepwater swell burst steadily into the joints and frailties of the stone.

10th November:  gallery

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